


Coming Home

by Aranwion



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Ghosts, M/M, Vampires, Werewolves
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-05-25
Updated: 2014-02-27
Packaged: 2017-12-12 22:14:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 11,614
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/816644
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aranwion/pseuds/Aranwion
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A 'Being Human' AU, Tolkien style.</p>
<p>Fili is the shy, adorable were-warg, Kili is the dashing, yet morally conflicted vampire and Ori is the sweet, tea-loving ghost haunting the house they move into.</p>
<p>(The BBC's Being Human, of course. I refuse to acknowledge the existence of the American travesty by the same name.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Pink House

**Author's Note:**

> Mostly maintaining canon, save Erebor was never lost so Fili grew up a prince in the mountain. He's still Thorin's nephew, but Dis' only child. Kili is related to him, but quite distantly.  
> Also, I messed with the timeline some, mostly concerning character's ages.
> 
> Eventual Fili/Kili, ratings are subject to change. Enjoy!  
> Now with edits, let me know if you like!

Year 2941, Third Age

 

“It’s pink.” Fíli stated, quirking an eyebrow at his companion. Standing on the drive in the early-morning sun it was impossible not to notice that the two-storey stuccoed house was most definitely not white. Why, in a town of nice, normal houses in shades of white and tan and brown, was it that they ended up in the one house that didn’t conform. It was _pink,_ of all colors. And yet, here they were.

Turning from the cart that was now disappearing down the drive Kíli grinned at Fíli and, instead of answering, flipped his collar up against the strengthening sunlight. Fíli watched him, gaze drawn to his delicate hands as they brushed his thick hair out from under his coat. Before Kíli could catch him looking Fíli looked away and let his eyes roam the building, taking in the well-kept home - the neat shutters, fresh paint, actual glass in the windows. Upstairs there were even gauzy curtains. Fíli’s eyes narrowed, focused on an upstairs window. Kíli went past him, hauling his pack, but Fíli continued to stare. He could have sworn…but there was nothing there now. Pushing his unruly hair off his face he snatched up his own packs from the ground. _Great,_ he thought, _it’s pink **and** drafty_.

 “It’s _pink_.” he muttered, though he knew Kíli could hear him from inside the house, probably could have even if the door wasn’t standing wide open.

            “Oh, come on, Fee! Don’t be such a spoilsport,” Kíli called from inside the front room. Fili sighed. In the face of Kíli’s unflagging cheer he hefted his own bags higher and carried them inside, kicking the door shut behind him. He dropped them next to Kíli’s at the foot of the stairs and turned to see his friend looking around the living room, hands on hips, bright grin lighting up his whole face. Fíli smiled, he never had been able to stay annoyed around Kee.

            “This’ll be great!” Kíli exclaimed, looking over his shoulder at Fíli. He gestured to the bay windows looking out on the drive. “Some nice curtains, a rug for the hearth, it’s perfect!” Fíli smiled wider and studied the sparsely furnished room. A worn, sagging couch stood alone in the open space, its sad state all the more obvious in the uncluttered room. He shrugged off his heavy overcoat, the day had grown too warm for furs. Slinging it over the fraying armrest he watched Kíli’s enthusiasm with fond amusement. That childlike excitement was one of the things he loved about the vampire, no one else he’d ever known could get so excited about a barely furnished rental in a mixed town of Dwarves and Men. “Sure, Kee,” he agreed, “it’ll be great.” And Fíli meant it too, despite all the snark. For the first time in a long time, he meant it.

Kíli tossed his own leather coat carelessly in the direction of the couch and clapped Fíli on the shoulder. “And,” he added, leaning in conspiratorially, “it’s supposed to be haunted.”

“I take it you consider that a plus,” Fíli said with a laugh. Kíli didn’t have time to reply because a voice behind them snorted and said “Well, it is.”

            Fíli’s heart skipped a beat, then thumped painfully. “Mahâl!”  He exclaimed, sucking in a sharp breath, his hand flying up to press against his chest right over his wildly pounding heart. He spun around, looking for the source of the voice and felt Kíli’s hand drop from his shoulder. There, standing in the doorway of the kitchen, was a short, red-haired young dwarf. His eyes were so wide Fíli could see the whites around the irises. Really, he looked as shocked as Fíli felt. He was staring, mouth opening and closing like he wanted to say something but couldn’t find the words.

            “Who the fuck are you?” Kíli demanded, putting himself between Fíli and the stranger. Fíli put a restraining hand on Kíli’s arm, he couldn’t see his friend’s eyes, but he was willing to bet they were getting darker. Kíli really didn’t handle people sneaking up on him well.

            “Wait, you can actually see me?” the stranger squeaked, voice a couple of octaves higher than when he’d spoken before. Then a small frown creased his brow and he added “And don’t curse.” Fíli raised an eyebrow at the mothering tone the young man had taken.

            “Of course we can,” he said gently, hand tightening on Kíli’s shoulder when he started to growl. “Why wouldn’t we be able to?” he continued, trying to keep his voice as calm and soothing as possible when faced with the possibility of a startled, enraged vampire. The man looked from him to Kíli and back, wringing his hands in what was obviously a nervous habit.

            “But, but,” he sputtered, “but I’m dead!” he finally burst out. Fíli’s mouth dropped open in shock, which only doubled when he felt Kíli’s tense muscles relax at those words. Kíli’s mannerism did a 180 - he stopped growling, the tension sliding out of him, and said “Oh, you’re a ghost. That’s all right, then.”

            “Alright!?” Fíli cried, finding his voice again. “There are ghosts? Ghosts are real?” he asked, dismayed to hear his voice rising in pitch with each question, until he was practically squeaking.

            “Well, yeah,” Kíli said with a dismissive wave of his hand, like the revelation that the undead existed was _no big deal_! Kíli walked toward the ghost, leaving Fíli standing by the sofa, flabbergasted. Kíli threw a reassuring look at him over his shoulder and then extended his hand toward the ghost.

            “Hi, I’m Kíli,” he said as the ghost took the offered hand. He nodded toward Fíli, who smiled weakly. “And this here is Fíli.” Fíli was just staring, dumbstruck, as Kíli touched – touched! – the ghost. He introduced them with that trademark easy smile and it seemed that not even the dead could resist that expression because the ghost smiled shyly back.

            “Ori,” he said, taking Kíli’s hand. “Pleased to meet you.” The ghost – Ori, Fíli corrected himself, his name is Ori – smiled, more sure as Kíli shook his hand, grip firm.

 “So,” Ori chirped brightly as Kíli released him, “would you like a cup of tea?” Fíli snapped his mouth shut and wondered how this was his life.


	2. This Could Be Interesting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Meet Ori!

Ori didn’t remember much about his death. There were confused impressions of voices shouting, the gut-wrenching feeling of falling, a bright starburst of pain and then he was standing in the living room of his comfortable little house next to his own bier, watching his brothers cry as they sat vigil for him. There was a moment of shock when he saw his own pale, lifeless face but it was the quiet, subdued sobs that truly convinced him. His brothers looked exhausted, haggard. Dori – strong, loving, stoic Dori – had tears sliding down his cheeks. He was crying the quiet tears of the truly exhausted and Nori’s eyes were red and swollen as he held his elder brother.

It was dusk, but no lights were lit and the deepening shadows gave the too-still room a forgotten, forlorn air. Ori reached out, wanting to comfort his family, but paused before he made contact. What if he couldn’t touch them? What if he could? Would it hurt them? Ori was wringing his hands, twisting his fingers into the knitted gloves he wore, a nervous habit Dori hated. Ori sat on the far end of the wooden bench someone had brought in, as near to his brothers as he dared. If he couldn’t comfort them, well, he’d make sure they weren’t alone. His own grief could wait.

Now Ori sighed heavily, curled up in his favourite chair next to the window in what had been his bedroom. Elbow propped on the arm of the chair, chin resting on his palm he watched the force of his exhale cause the gauzy curtains to flutter. Most days he thought it was just as well he couldn’t remember his death. The act of, well, dying, was probably so traumatic that his mind had blocked it out. Or maybe no one remembers their death, he mused. Either way, he wouldn’t have minded if someone could have popped by to explain this whole ghost thing. He was dead, he didn’t actually need to breathe anymore, but here he was, blowing the curtains around.

His mind was still drifting lazily when he noticed movement in the front drive. Peering through the gap in the curtains he watched two dwarves climbing down from the front bench of a heavily laden, sturdy looking cart. They had their backs to him, obviously speaking to the drover, _probably thanking him for the ride_ , Ori thought _._ They were like dusk and dawn, opposites moving in harmony.

The dark one had a sleek fall of hair, deep mahogany brown, and wore a long leather coat, gloves, breeches and boots in shades of deep blue and brown. The other had a riotous mane of golden waves, an unusual color amongst dwarves. He wore a coat trimmed in dark fur, but it was fastened loosely and the spring green of his tunic, paired with the royal blue of his breeches and dark, fur-trimmed boots made Ori think of a late spring morning. Laughing, the dark one flipped a gold coin to the drover, who caught it neatly out of the air as the golden one hefted two full travel packs and several satchels from the back of the cart.

With a whicker of protest from the ponies the cart pulled away and the two turned to face the house. The dark one had a twinkle in his eyes and wide smile on his face as he looked up at Ori’s house. His companion made some sort of snarky comment, judging by the look on his face, that caused the dark one to glance at him. He didn’t say anything, just flipped up his collar and rearranged his hair so it wasn’t caught beneath his coat.

The golden one’s eyes tracked the movement, blue eyes bright. Suddenly he flicked his gaze away and swept it over the house. Obviously he thought the other hadn’t noticed his interest, but the lithe man’s soft smile said otherwise. In the next minute Ori nearly fell out of his chair with how fast he drew back from the window. Just for a moment he could have sworn those blue eyes had been focused on him. As his non-existent heart pounded Ori thought So, these are the new tenants. Nori was right, this could be interesting.

 

 

It was a surprise when Nori walked into the house, even more so since Dori was with him. Ori watched them from his place on the floor, where he’d been lounging in a patch of sun shining in through the big bay windows. Nori had his tool kit with him, and his hair was pulled back in a single loose braid, which meant he was finally going to take care of the leaky pipe in the kitchen; that meant new tenants. Nori veered right into the kitchen, Dori trailing along behind him.

“I’m just not sure about this,” Dori said, sitting primly at the kitchen table. Intrigued, Ori got up and walked over to the pass-through so he could better eavesdrop on his brothers.

“Relax, big brother, it will be fine.” Nori replied from where he was sitting on the floor, head already under the sink. Dori frowned, smoothing out his robes unnecessarily.

“But,” he pursued, “you met them through Hafuk. You know what he’s like, the kind of people he associates with.”

“You mean people like me?” Nori shot back, but there was no heat in it. Dori huffed. That particular argument had been heard so many times in their house that it had become something of a private joke. Nori ducked out from under the sink to grab a wrench and smiled at Dori.

“You’re right about Hafuk,” he allowed as he went back to work. “But I did meet them, and I know how to read people. They seemed like nice young dwarrows.” Dori’s frown returned at that.

“And?” he demanded.

“And what?”

“That’s it? They were nice?” Even if he hadn’t been looking at him Ori would have heard the frown in Dori’s voice. And he could definitely hear Nori rolling his eyes in his irritated sigh. With a screech of metal on metal Nori answered. “They were young, perhaps not yet to their first century. The older one seemed to know his way around a rental agreement. And a tavern,” he added, just to irk his sibling. And it did, Dori huffed loudly and crossed his arms over his chest, but he was smiling as he did. Ori knew that was why Nori had said it. Ori shook his head fondly. Nori knew how to push every button Dori had, but he could also cheer him up like no one else.

“The other seemed shy, but sensible. Just past his majority, I’d wager. A little nervous, but likely it’s his first time away from home and kin.” Dori’s smile fell and his shoulders slumped, hands folded in his lap. Nori stilled, like he’d just realized what he said. It was Ori’s first time away from home and kin. It hung in the air, unsaid. Ori felt tears prick at his eyes. “Oh, _nudûd_ , I miss you too,” he whispered into the silence. Dori shook his head and straightened up.

“Well,” he said decisively, “it will be good to have life in this house again.” Ori couldn’t help but smile, even if it was a bit watery. Dori was ever the optimist, and had a soft spot for youngsters. The conversation turned to mundane things, the wares in the market this week, speculation on whether there’d be more rain tonight.

Ori wandered back into the living room and resumed his place in the patch of warmth moving across the polished hardwood floor. Nori wasn’t much longer with the pipes and as his brothers left Ori revelled in the feeling of heat on his face and suddenly felt that everything would work out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As you may have noticed, chapters won't always happen in chronological order. Next up, we'll get some back story on Fili, Kili and how they met.
> 
> Nudûd: brothers  
> Thanks a bunch to Lulu for reminding me to add the translations, I totally forgot *blushes*, my bad!


	3. Family Ties

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Meet Kili!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who read, commented and left kudos - it pleases me to no end that you're enjoying this crazy fic!

Year 2850, Third Age

 

It was just after dusk when Kíli entered the inn, covered in road dust. He’d been in the West, as far into the sunset as the Shire of the hobbits. It was a beautiful land, open and green and full of life.  He’d had a comfortable little smial of his own and made a respectable if not luxurious living as the Shire’s all-round handyman, but despite the unquestioning acceptance and eager friendship he found there he’d never been able to stay away from the mountains and mines of his people. He’d venture out across Middle Earth time and again, but inevitably he ended up back in one of the dwarf kingdoms. This village had the air of a way station, a place travellers paused before continuing their journey, so it was no surprise that the sole inn was large and prosperous looking.

Kíli pushed open the sturdy, well-oiled door, noting that the handle was a just a little too high up to be comfortable. A settlement of Men, then. Entering the smoky, noise-filled common area Kíli cursed silently when he saw the mirror on the back wall that ran the length of the bar. A problem, but one he’d faced before. He’d just have to be a little more careful. Scrubbing a hand over his face Kíli sighed and leaned against the front counter. He was so _tired_ , he didn’t want to have to be careful – he just wanted some food and a place to sleep away the day. He still managed to dredge up a weary smile when the middle-aged, portly man behind the counter noticed him.

“Ah, Master Dwarf! Didn’t see you there, my apologies. What can we get ya – a drink and a hearty meal? Perhaps a room for a weary traveller?” the man’s smile was genuine and he spoke with a hint of pride, Kíli figured he must be the proprietor. Shifting the weight of his pack Kíli nodded. “A meal and a room, yes.”  

The innkeeper named the price and as Kíli handed over the coins he said amiably “You travelling to the Lonely Mountain? Ye must have heard the news, then. Been seein’ quite a few more dwarrows comin’ through here than is usual with them all goin’ up to the Mountain and all.” Kíli frowned. Yes, he was travelling to Erebor, but only because the yearning for home had grown so strong that he could no longer fight it, even if he wanted to. Besides, after more than two centuries it should be safe enough for him in Dale. None of that, however, was noteworthy. Dwarves travelling in numbers and news that even Men were taking note of? That could mean only one of two things.

With apprehension stirring in the back of his mind Kíli asked “What news?” The rotund man’s expression of suppressed glee told Kíli there wasn’t a wedding all those dwarves were travelling to. A heavy dread settled in the pit of his stomach. The innkeeper leaned his elbows on the counter and grinned. “Why, the death o’ the King, o’ course!”

Kíli’s breath rushed out of him so fast it was dizzying and the sounds of the inn faded, replaced by ringing echo in his ears. The innkeeper was still talking but he seemed very far away. All Kíli could focus on was drawing in another breath until he heard a name he knew – _Thráin._ The world snapped back into focus and Kíli winced as everything suddenly became too crisp, too loud and it roused every predatory instinct he had; it was a silent fight to keep his eyes from changing and giving him away.

“What?” he demanded sharply, blinking hard.

“Aye,” the innkeep nodded sagely. “’Tis true, me cousin’s wife’s sister is wed to a Dale-Man. The gold-lust claimed King Thrór, and upon finding his body Prince Thráin went mad, had to be locked up ‘fore he hurt someone.”

Kíli struggled to breathe; he was gripping the straps of his pack hard, hard enough to warp the leather. “Who – who sits on the throne now?” he asked, having to stop and clear his throat before he could force the question out.

“Why, that’d be Thráin’s boy, Prince Thorin! Older than me pa, he is, but I hear he’s still a youngster by Dwarven standards. Not even wed, can ye believe it! Then again, me cousin’s wife’s sister says - ”

“Yes, thank you,” Kíli interrupted, “would it be possible to get that meal now?”

“O’ course, o’ course!” the innkeeper replied easily, not in the least bothered by Kíli’s rudeness. He handed Kíli a key and gestured for him to take a seat, assuring him his meal would be along shortly. Kíli sat in the corner farthest from the bar through habit, his mind was spinning and the ringing was back. He ate by rote, tasting nothing. Finally he drained the last of his ale and slipped quietly from the inn’s common room, unnoticed and unmissed.

 

 

Kíli lay on the too-high bed in his rented room, numb, staring at nothing long after night had truly fallen. As the clouds cleared and silvery moonlight drenched the room he closed his eyes and gave in to the grief clutching at his heart. His choked cry echoed loudly in the small room as he curled in on himself. He thought he had prepared for this, but he was so, so wrong. Kíli turned his face into the pillow to muffle the sobs wracking through him, knowing there might be questions later about bloody linens but not caring in the slightest. His baby brother, the brother he’d held as a dwarfling and sung lullabies to, _whom_ _he had died to protect_ , was gone. When he was last through the Iron Hills he’d heard rumours, whispers of gold-lust, of Thrór’s health failing in the face of his obsession. Kíli knew the stories of Durin’s Bane, of _course_ he did, but to hear that Thrór had fallen to it struck Kíli to the core. The numbness was replaced by hot, molten pain, sweeping through his body, leaving him shaking and gasping for air between sobs.

When his cries quieted Kíli lay shivering in the dark, hugging himself against a cold that had nothing to do with the chill autumn night. As his breathing evened out he rubbed his gritty, aching eyes and wrapped the bed’s heavy quilt around him, pulling it over his head. In the musty darkness, with sleep tugging at him, Kíli wondered if tomorrow he’d feel the same sliver of resentment he often felt when he thought the sacrifice he had made. When he thought of the nephew he’d only met once, whom he hadn’t been able to watch grow, and for and the great-nephew who now sat on the throne that Kíli had never known at all. He wondered if he would still love, but hate, his brother when he looked into the mirror and saw only the spaces where he used to be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, that was rather depressing. Happy ending is on the way, though!  
> To clarify:  
> \- Kíli is the oldest son of Dáin I instead of Thrór.   
> \- I arbitrarily decided Ori was born in 2809.  
> \- Instead of a quest to reclaim Erebor beginning in 2941, a were-warg and a vampire move into a haunted house together.
> 
> Timeline is now included in the end-of-work notes


	4. Changes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The full moon is approaching when a strange letter arrives in Erebor - a journey is undertaken and everything is about to change.

 

 

Year 2941, Third Age

 

“Thank you, Ori.” Fíli murmured with a small smile he hoped didn’t look too strained. When he took the offered cup of tea he was thankful that his hands remained steady.

“You’re welcome.” Ori replied cheerfully, turning and whistling his way into the kitchen. Fíli sighed and looked around the living room, cozy now, noting absently that it was definitely time to do some dishes – every flat surface was covered in cups full of cold tea. Taking a sip from the steaming mug in his hands Fíli was actually a little surprised Ori had managed to find a clean one. The tea thing was a little annoying at times, but so endearing that neither were-warg nor vampire could feel any true ire. Still, it was up to Fíli to corral Ori into helping him do the washing up every few days – Kíli was constitutionally incapable of cleaning. Fíli sometimes wondered if he’d come from a noble family but Kíli never offered to speak of it and Fíli didn’t want to pry.

Fíli listened to Ori puttering around in the kitchen and breathed in the fragrant steam from the tea, savouring the warmth in his hands. It was that time of the month and Fíli curled his cold hands tighter around the mug. He knew he was chilled only because of his growing anxiety about tonight. He knew it, but that didn’t stop the bouts of shivering he’d been having all day.

He was supposed to be at the forge with Kíli today, but Kee had taken one look at the dark circles under his eyes, the way he was curled in on himself and insisted that he stay home.

“You’ll be more a hindrance than a help in this condition, Fee,” Kíli had said gently as he steered Fíli toward the couch. After settling Fíli with a blanket tucked around him and building up the fire a bit he’d knelt before the shivering blond and took Fíli’s hands in his own.

“I’ll be there in the morning, yeah?” Fíli had just nodded and watched Kíli leave. He hated being treated like a child, but couldn’t deny the warm glow that settled in his chest at Kíli’s show of concern.

He’d dozed a bit, but was too twitchy to really get much rest, and it was getting worse the closer it got to nightfall. His stomach was roiling too much to do more than take tiny sips of his tea; he rarely ate much the day before the full moon. Fíli watched the fire dancing in the hearth and mentally walked the route to the place he’d scouted out weeks ago. He’d walked the path so many times he was sure he could do it in his sleep, but he could make no mistakes. This was the first full moon since they’d moved to Stonehold and it was crucial that Fíli was well away from the townspeople when the change happened.

The place he’d chosen was a secluded little glen near the abandoned quarry that was difficult to reach at best. The place was ringed by the sheer cliffs of the quarry and steep, heavily wooded slopes that Fíli had nearly broken a leg scaling the first time. Still, he couldn’t help but worry. Fíli tried to smooth the frown creasing his brow, he didn’t want to upset Ori, he was so sensitive to others’ moods and Fíli hated to see his face scrunch up with worry. He couldn’t help feeling like he’d kicked a puppy when Ori got that look.

The change was never pleasant - in fact, it was excruciating and utterly terrifying, but Ori didn’t need to know that.

“Fíli?” Ori’s tentative call broke Fíli’s reverie and he looked up at their resident ghost from where he was slumped on the couch.

“Are you alright?” Ori asked as he plucked the now-cold mug from Fíli’s unresisting grasp. Watching Ori frown slightly when he found the mug still full Fíli felt his lips quirk upward at Ori’s natural instinct to take care of people.

“I’m fine,” was his response as he glanced out the gap in the heavy curtains. His smile faded as he saw the position of the sun. “In fact, I should be going.” Fíli levered himself upright and looked at the angle of the sun again. He turned away and there was Ori, empty fingers twisting in his knitted gloves. Fíli stepped toward him and wrapped him up in a tight hug. He wasn’t quite smiling, but his hands were steady and he squeezed Ori tighter for a moment before drawing back to meet his eyes.

“I’ll be fine, Ori,” he spoke lowly, trying to reassure his worry-prone housemate. “I have done this before,” he finished, a touch sardonically, pleased to see a grin on Ori’s face. Ori just nodded and pulled Fíli into another brief hug. When they broke apart Fíli grabbed his bag of supplies and left the house that, sometime in the last month, had managed to become home.

Fíli woke the next morning naked, sore and hungry. He was lying on his front, cheek pressed into the chilly ground, the warmth of the rising sun a pleasant contrast on his back. He groaned and flopped tiredly onto his back, eyes still closed. He jumped when he heard a voice say “Welcome back, sleeping beauty.” He groaned again when the movement pulled already aching muscles.

“Mahâl, Kíli,” he snapped as he propped himself up on one elbow and sent a glare in the vampire’s direction. “Are you trying to give me a heart attack?” Kíli just smirked, but the twinkle in his eyes said he was silently laughing. Fíli sat up slowly, unconcerned with his nakedness; Kíli had been there after too many shifts for Fíli to have any modesty left. Besides, it wasn’t like Kíli had ever really looked, which was both a relief and a disappointment for the relatively inexperienced blonde. Ignoring his friend – who was reclining in the shade of a large oak tree munching on one of Fíli’s apples, thank you very much – Fíli raised a hand to his hair, trying to assess the damage. He groaned again, this time in dismay, as he tried to pull a twig from the tangled mess. He growled in irritation and winced when his actions pulled at the knots.

Tossing away the apple core Kíli started digging through Fíli’s bag and gestured for Fíli to join him in the shade. The sun was already bright and was getting brighter – Fíli didn’t begrudge the vampire his place under the tree. Fíli made his way slowly to his friend’s chosen spot, knowing Kíli would be ready when he got there. Retrieving his clothes he dressed slowly, then sat himself on the mossy ground before his friend. Fíli’s breath hitched a little when Kíli made a rare display of his vampiric strength by manhandling Fíli into a better position, settling him in the vee of the vampire’s legs. Fíli’s heart beat a little faster when Kíli sunk his fingers into his hair and without a word started untangling the debris with deft fingers. Kíli heard his heart lurch, but he made no mention of it, merely humming as he liberally applied the smoothing oil that would help ease the knots.

Relaxing into the gentle touch Fíli began to doze. Kíli merely worked in silence, letting the sounds of the forest fill the air. The vampire, so focused on the drowsy were-warg in his arms never noticed a single, silent watcher slip away into the old quarry.

 

Year 2941, Third Age

Full Moon

Dwalin was a large dwarf, broad and battle-scarred, and he tended to draw attention. He was also a warrior and experienced enough to know that not all wars were won through force of arms. He could behead an orc with one blow, or slip past it without the enemy ever knowing he was there. The house across the lane wasn’t an enemy camp, but Dwalin felt it was just as important he remain unseen. Dwalin had been crouched in the shadows between the peaks of the tea shop’s roof since before dawn, doing just that.

About an hour after dawn he watched the dark-haired dwarf leave the pink house, dressed in a knee-length, high-collared leather coat and finely tooled calf-high leather boots. The man wore gloves, despite the growing warmth of the clear autumn morning. The guardsman filed that little oddity away and continued to watch. Dwalin was armed with only his smaller daggers and knives, the metal cool against his skin from the autumn chill seeping through his light-weight cotton tunic and breeches. Later, in the heat of the day, he’d be grateful for the breathable cloth.

 The day passed slowly, growing hotter and more uncomfortable on the roof, but Dwalin was a singularly focused dwarf and his attention never wandered – he was rewarded with a flash of movement and blonde hair that was visible, just for a moment, through an upstairs window. Dwalin felt the aching knot he’d carried in his chest for two decades loosen a little. Even so, Dwalin took a long drink of lukewarm water and resettled himself in the lee of the roof. He needed to be sure. For Thorin, he needed to be sure.

Flexing and tensing muscles to ward off cramping he thanked Mahâl that unlike his grandfather Thorin had seen the value in a spy network.

Nori’s information was always reliable, even if his methods of attaining it weren’t always strictly legal. Dwalin allowed the thief an extraordinary amount of leniency, as long as he stuck to cons and petty theft, in return for the tidbits and observations he provided.

 Late in the afternoon the door opened once more and Dwalin sucked in a sharp breath. Fíli, Prince of Erebor - his Prince - was walking quickly down the hard-packed road. Glancing furtively up and down the empty street the Prince ducked into an alley, heading east, toward the outskirts of town. Moving with a speed and nimbleness that belied his size Dwalin was off the roof and following the Prince in less than a minute. Dwalin was focused on trailing the boy without being seen himself but the guardsman still wondered – what had really happened, that day in the meadow? Why had Fíli run? And who was the strangely familiar dwarf the Prince was living with?

 

Two weeks prior

           

            The council meeting was abruptly interrupted when one of Balin’s young apprentices burst into the room, the heavy door slamming into the wall with a resounding slam that echoed through the suddenly silent room. Thorin scowled darkly at the interruption, deepening the already prominent lines around his eyes. Lately he barely tolerated council meetings when they ran smoothly and didn’t appreciate delays.

            “Pardon, Majesty,” the youngster stammered between heavy breaths, “a letter has arrived for Master Dwalin concerning a Royal matter,” the boy paused to catch a breath, “Majesty, you left instructions that any letter on this matter was to be presented immediately, so.” With this the young man held out a badly creased envelope. Thorin’s expression softened and he waved the boy forward.

            Balin dismissed the youngster with a “Thank you, laddie,” as soon as the letter was in Thorin’s hand. The flustered scribe left the room quickly, shutting the door far more carefully than he had opened it. Thorin sat, staring at the envelope – Dwalin could think of only one Royal matter on which such instructions had been left with the scribes. His brother was obviously thinking along the same lines as he quickly and quietly cleared the room of all but Dwalin, Thorin and himself. Without a word Thorin handed Dwalin the envelope, expression blank. Dwalin shared an apprehensive look with his brother before pulling out the crumpled parchment. This wasn’t the first such letter to arrive in Erebor in the last two decades.

He read the letter slowly, painfully aware that his friend was sitting statue-still next to him, barely even breathing. Dwalin couldn’t completely suppress the slight tremble in his hand when he handed the parchment to Thorin. He met his friend’s, then his brother’s, eyes and nodded. Thorin exhaled heavily and turned his attention to the letter. Dwalin sat back and began to consider the logistics of leaving Erebor for an indefinite amount of time, all the while turning over the letter’s contents in his mind.

 

_Guardsman,_

_I’ve found someone who will be of interest to you. Several days ago I met a pair of dwarves looking for a house or rooms to rent. One of them matches the description of a dwarf I was given some 20 years ago – a person of interest to the Crown. Young, wavy blonde hair, blue eyes, on the tall side. He wears the braids of smithcraft and swordsmanship, but none of clan or family. He travels with a dark-haired companion who wears no braids._

_Come to the town of Stonehold, Avenue of Stars. They’re in the pink house._

_He introduced himself as Fee._

           

            The letter was unsigned, but Dwalin would know Nori’s angular handwriting any day. It was only after the letter had made its way to Balin, who read it a second time with a stunned look, that Thorin looked to his oldest friend and asked softly “Do you trust this man?” Dwalin nodded. “Aye, into battle and back.” Thorin’s gaze became distant. “Go.” Was all he said before striding from the room. 

            Still holding the precious letter Balin spoke in hushed tones, as if voicing their hope too loudly would cause it to vanish like a flame in the wind. “Do you really think it could be him?” Sombre, Dwalin shrugged. “I guess I’ll find out.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not entirely happy with this chapter, but this is the shape it's taken, so...here.  
> Again, thanks to everyone who read, left kudos and commented - you have joined the ranks of my muses!
> 
> I'm thinking of writing this chapter from Kili's POV and adding it in as a sort of interlude - yes, no, maybe? ConCrit is always welcome!


	5. Interlude, Part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kili feels!  
> Now with edits and added material!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First, I'm terribly sorry for both the long wait and the shortness of the update, Real Life came along and decided sh*t was going to go down.
> 
> Second, this is indeed only part of the Kili feels, second part is on its way.

Year 2941, Third Age

 

Kíli crept into the glen during the grey pause before dawn, taking the time to enjoy the stillness. He’d always loved this time of day, when the stars had faded and the birds had not yet risen, when the whole world seemed to be holding its breath. Cresting the steep rise Kíli wondered how Fee had found this place – the glen was shielded from view, invisible from most of the bordering quarry, you’d have to scale one of the sheer interior walls just to see it. If you didn’t know where you were going you’d never find it from the wooded side either – Fee was always careful about where the change happened but this was on a whole other level, Kíli was impressed.

Sliding down the mulchy, wooded slope Kíli kept one eye on the sleeping were-warg sprawled on the grass, but he wasn’t really worried. It had been more than a decade since his presence had pricked Fíli’s changed instincts, a small miracle in and of itself – Kíli had never heard of a changed were-warg suffering a vampire to live, let alone becoming comfortable enough to blithely sleep through said vampire’s comings and goings. Sitting under a grand old oak Kíli shamelessly munched on one of Fíli’s apples while he waited, watching as the soft, yellow sunshine filled the glen. The warm, buttery light caressed Fíli’s sleeping form, picking out golden highlights in his thick fur, making the normally muddy pelt shine beautifully.

When the change started Kíli winced in sympathy as Fíli whimpered in pain while his body broke and reformed, the desperate sounds touching off every one of his protective – possessive - instincts. Kíli hated how helpless he was in the face of the change, at least being turned only hurt once, while his best friend – his _âzyungel_ – suffered that soul-wrenching pain every goddamn month.

By the time his golden prince was lying in the dew-covered grass Kíli had himself under control - he never wanted Fíli’s first sight after waking to be the dead-eyed predator he truly was. Selfishly he stared at Fíli while he could, the warm light that mantled the glen picking out the silvered highlights in Fíli’s tangled mane. Kíli’s heart ached to see the scars, angry and red, raking from neck to hip across his back, the mess of twisted tissue that spoke of a tearing bite to his left shoulder.

Kíli let his glance stray from Fíli’s face only once as he groaned and rolled onto his back. He let the silence go one for a few more moments before speaking, shattering the early morning silence. “Welcome back,” _hôfuk zu_ , his mind whispered, “sleeping beauty.”

Once Kíli had his prince exactly where he wanted him – close - he sunk his hands into Fíli’s thick, matted hair and immediately felt the tension start to drain out of his limbs, the knotted muscles in his shoulders loosening now that he was close to his kurdîn. These were the moments he had come to live for, the few precious hours that he could touch and care for Fíli without question or reproach. He began carefully teasing apart the snarls in Fíli’s mane with a finely made bone-toothed comb; though he would never admit it, using a tool his hands had fashioned for Fíli and Fíli alone to bring order back to the tangles of living sunlight sent a sweet, electric thrill up his spine.

Working upward from tips to roots Kíli revelled in the warmth of Fíli’s body. After the change he was always fever-hot, the excess energy produced by his shifting body pouring off him in waves; Fíli was always the light in his world, a fallen sun to replace the one stolen from him and Kíli basked in his glow, feeling his chilled flesh become warm. Kíli drank in the sounds Fíli made as he began to relax, the little hitches in his breathing when Kíli’s hands brushed his skin.

Through the minutes, hours in the glen Kíli listened to the rise and fall of Fíli’s heartbeat; the way it stuttered when he stroked his thumb along the column of Fíli’s throat, the way it skipped a beat when he nudged Fíli’s head into a better position with a firm brush of fingers on overheated skin.

He was working in a steady, lulling rhythm, sensing Fíli was on the edge of sleep and wanting his One to get the rest he unconsciously denied himself in the days before the full moon.

Working out the last, stubborn tangles he breathed deeply, drawing in the thick, honeyed scent of Fíli’s simmering arousal and his own body ached to respond. With Fíli so close, so warm and languid in his arms, it was hard not to, but he had plenty of experience controlling himself around his prince.

After running the comb through the smooth, shining waves of golden hair Kíli set it aside and started deftly separating the fine strands so he could truly set Fíli’s hair to rights. His long, slender fingers had always meant that his braids were the neatest, he used to spend hours braiding his brother’s, mother’s and cousins’ hair on feast days. He secured the plait with a polished bronze-inlaid steel clasp and started the next one. Working the braids in quickly he glanced at the two smallest beads nestled with the larger ornaments and sighed internally. Though his fingers never fumbled the six strands of the warrior’s braid his heart beat a little faster.

 Kíli smiled softly when Fíli hummed, a quiet, sleepy noise. Kíli set fastened the final clasp and gently massaged Fíli’s scalp to soothe the ache that would have settled in during his ministrations.

Slowing his movements Kíli let his hands linger, coming to rest at the base of Fíli’s skull, his thumbs rubbing small circles against Fíli’s skin. He groaned when Fíli slumped heavily against him, resting his head drowsily on Kíli’s shoulder, baring his supple neck to Kíli’s hungry gaze. He froze, not daring to move while Fíli sighed contentedly and slipped over the precipice into sleep. His golden _sanghivasha_ began to make soft, dreaming noises and Kíli exhaled slowly.

“Fíli,” he breathed, so quietly that no mortal would hear. A whine caught in his throat, he was mesmerized by the pulse he could see beating under that perfect, pale skin. Kíli buried his face in the crook of Fíli’s neck, moaning; Fíli’s scent was so much stronger here, like the earth after a gentle, soaking rain, like sun-warmed stone and freshly washed cotton left to dry in the summer heat.

His world narrowed to the man sleeping in his arms, his warmth seeping into Kíli’s core, pooling sweet and heavy in his groin. His tongue darted out, tasting sweat and musk and Fíli and he whimpered, tasting the lingering arousal, continuing to lap gently at the feast before him.

He tore himself away, sharply, while he still could. He was panting hard, painfully aroused, on the verge of tears from the force of his wanting. He couldn’t give in, he couldn’t, not with Fíli’s life at stake. But, Aulë, how he wished to, had wished to since the moment he’d stumbled upon a half-starved, were-warg princling in the wilds.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translation: sanghivasha: perfect (pure) treasure  
> kurdîn: literally 'heart-place', which I'm (probably improperly) using as 'place where my heart is'  
> hôfuk zu: 'hôfuk' is joy, the added 'zu' implies ownership so it becomes 'my joy'
> 
> So, yeah, this started out as a short, fluffy fic, yet - despite my best intentions - it has become this angsty, plot-ridden monster. I would dearly, dearly love a beta, or at least someone to bounce ideas off of, in the fandom. Like, seriously, I would volunteer as tribute for a beta.  
> Thank you again to all who have read, left kudos and commented!


	6. Lost and Found

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Those that were lost are found, but that may not necessarily be a good thing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To all my sweet readers, I am so sorry for the long wait! I was working to finish a competition piece so my poor boys got put on the back burner for a while.

Thorin stood, eyes closed, face upturned and swayed a little on his feet as he let the sunlight beat down on him hotly. Moving forward Thorin had no fear of stumbling, he’d walked this path so many times it had become as familiar as the halls of Erebor to him. Hands outstretched he let the dry, prickling stalks of the golden meadow grasses scratch against his palms. The long grasses caught and tugged the loose ends of his hair and he revelled in the bright starbursts of pain, letting them fill up the deep, lonely spaces in his mind.

No matter how he tried not to think, to exist only in the moment, to stay away from this Mahâl-forsaken place his feet inevitably found their way back here. Time had done nothing to dim the memories of what they – _he_ – had found in the meadow that day and they haunted him. They were there, shadows lurking behind every aspect of his life. He slept only in snatches, anxiously, trying, mostly in vain, to escape the images that found him, the grisly possibilities of his nephew’s fate so real he often woke sobbing, tears wet on his face.

And his sister, oh Aulë, his sweet baby sister. Dís had become a ghost of herself and the loss of his sister’s joy was just another weight he carried. He was so _tired_ , so worn. He felt centuries older than his 195 years.

The weight of Fíli’s…absence was the heaviest of all; to his everlasting shame no one even realized the boy was missing until nearly a day later. Thorin clenched his jaw hard enough to ache and shook. His sweet, smiling, golden nephew had been here, right _here_ , afraid and alone and there had always been so many things that were more important than talking to Fíli, seeing Fíli, spending time with Fíli, and then, well. Then there was no more time at all.

By the time they came to the meadow the blood was dull and dry, yet Thorin could all too easily picture the grasses, wet and shiny with freshly spilled blood. It was a story told through destruction, by massive claws gouging the dark earth, dark fur matted by the mingled blood on Fíli’s blade, the trampled path where something – or someone – was dragged into the woods. Thorin had never truly believed his nephew was dead, even when all logic said that was where this story ended. Even through the creeping despair his heart whispered _He’s out there, keep looking._ So he did.

Leaving those instructions with the scribes…after the third false trail he almost rescinded them. Would he have regretted it if he had? Would he regret that he hadn’t? He didn’t know how much more regret his heart could bear. Thorin’s eyes flew open and he startled violently when a voice, unnaturally loud in the still afternoon sun, called his name. Suddenly dizzy, he stumbled and would have fallen if strong arms had not steadied him.

“Damn it, Thorin! When did you last sleep?” Dwalin all but snarled. Leaning heavily on Dwalin’s solid chest Thorin shrugged.

“What day is it now?” he asked, sagging further. Dwalin growled and shook him gently.

“Come on, you bloody great idiot.” Dwalin grunted as he shifted Thorin’s weight so he could guide Thorin back into the mountain. Trying to support a little more of his own weight Thorin noticed that Dwalin still wore his pack. For him to search Thorin out without even pausing to wash off the road dust…Thorin’s heartbeat was suddenly too loud in his ears and it became difficult to draw breath. He stared beseechingly at his friend.

“ _Bâhal_?” he asked, not even trying to hide the desperate note in his thin voice. Hope and fear tangled up inside him, making him feel frayed and light-headed. Dwalin’s arm tightened around him, a guarded happiness on his grizzled face.

“It’s him, Thorin. By Aulë, Fíli is alive.”

For the first time in his life, Thorin fainted.

 

Seeing the look on Dís’ thin, drawn face when he told her about Fíli’s condition had been heart wrenching – the hope, the pain, the confused fear and revulsion. Eventually a sort of wary hopefulness had settled on her fine-boned features and there was a new spark in her Durin-blue eyes; it soothed some of the pain in Thorin’s own heart to see real _life_ in his sister again. When she asked it of him he left her to her thoughts, his own still in turmoil. Closing the door to the rooms Dís still occupied gently he began to wander. The lateness of the hour meant the halls were all but deserted, which suited Thorin’s unsettled mood perfectly. Eventually though, he found himself back in the Royal wing, the hush deeper in these sacrosanct halls.

 

Thorin understood Dís’ conflicted heart; they had been taught from the cradle that there were things in this world that were not _of_ this world and so were no better than the orcs or goblins that preyed upon their people. Thorin himself had never encountered a supernatural, but until this very day he would have agreed with those teachings, and would have done so without thought or question. Things were different now, this was Fíli, this was _family_.

Thorin sighed and stared into the fire, rubbing tight circles into his temples in an attempt to ease the tightness there. There was a fine tremor in his hands and Thorin knew he needed to eat, and sleep, but something was out of place, shifting inside his core and he was too unsettled to sleep.

As Dwalin had rather too smugly pointed out he’d been taking abysmal care of himself and his erratic behaviour had not gone unnoticed; the council was done waiting for answers and Thorin still didn’t know what he was going to tell them.

Even with the fire crackling hotly in the great stone hearth the room was dark and still; there was a musty chill in the air, the scent of space too long unlived in. When Thorin’s wanderings had brought him here he’d felt a sharp pang of sadness slice through him, it had been far too long since he had visited these rooms.

Leaning back in the plush armchair Thorin stretched out his legs, digging his toes into the luxuriously thick hearth rug. He smiled softly, remembering the day he had taken Fíli to the first spring market in Dale, so many years ago.

~~

There was a festive air in the vibrant square and the place was packed with eager shoppers enjoying the first warm weather of the year. While Thorin examined a jewelers wares with Dís in mind he spied Fíli eyeing the brightly decked out weaver’s stall. He smiled when the boy glanced around, then reached out and stroked one of the thick, hanging rugs. Still smiling, Thorin walked up behind his nephew and lay a hand on the boy’s shoulder. Fíli jumped and drew his hand back like he’d touched a hot anvil, slightly guilty look on his young face.

“You like it, lad?” he asked, heart swelling as Fíli’s face brightened and he nodded shyly.

“It’s soft,” he explained, as if he needed to justify wanting it. Fíli had grown up in privilege, yet the shy youngster was ever hesitant to ask for anything for himself. It worried Thorin, at times, how little Fíli took for his own pleasure. Without making a fuss about the price Thorin bought the rug from the pleased merchant and handed it to Fíli. Spirits high he put an arm around the boy’s shoulders as he clutched his prize.

“Perhaps we can put it in your rooms?” he suggested, chuckling when Fíli bounced and nodded hard enough to send his braids swinging.

~~

So here he sat, Fíli’s rooms. The Heir’s rooms. Thorin’s smile faded and he let his head fall back. Fíli had been too young, then, to live in these rooms but he was almost at that age when a dwarfling began to test their parents’ boundaries and authority, began to assert themselves, to leave childhood behind and prepare for adulthood. Thorin’s ancestors had long known that a prince’s, or princess’, rebellious phase could be rather more disastrous than your average dwarfling’s. Providing the youngsters with their own space and the sense of independence that came with it tended to make for fewer international incidents. As long as anyone could remember there had been suites of rooms in the royal wing for exactly that purpose. Thorin clenched his hands on the arms of the chair. At sixty five Fíli should have been moving into these rooms, not living in exile and fear.

There was a soft sound behind him and Thorin turned sharply, angry at being caught unawares. The scowl forming on his face died abruptly when he found not an interloper but Dís, her fiery gaze bright in the dim room.

“Brother,” she greeted him quietly, but she was standing tall and he could once again see the proud, fierce woman Dís had been, gone for too many long years.

“Sister,” he replied, not quite able to summon a smile, but he let the King go and let Dís see how tired he truly was. Though even this pale echo of their old banter, absent these last two decades, heartened him. Taking a step further into the sitting room she stared into the fire for a moment, contemplative.

“It must be cleaned and aired, of course. The pipes in the water room will have to be inspected as well after such long disuse. All must be ready for the heir’s arrival.” When she met his eyes there was a smoldering heat in them.

“Damn Father’s teachings to the deepest circle of Hell, and damn those who judge what they do not know!” There was steel in her voice, and hot conviction in her words. “You bring him home, Thorin Oakenshield. You bring my son home.” Not waiting for his response she turned and swept out of the room. The _swish_ of her skirts on the polished stone was the only sound aside from the excited crackle of the fire. As soon as the door shut firmly behind his sister Thorin stood, reaching for his boots, mind made up.

Their father, and grandfather, had been men of many prejudices; Thorin was _still_ trying to clean up the mess Thrór had made of Erebor’s political relationships with their neighbours. Dís was right – damn them all. Fíli was family, and Thorin would not abandon his kin. It was time for the Prince of Erebor to come home.

 

On the day of their departure Balin found him in the little known and less visited Gallery. In this hall were the portraits of every member of Durin’s Line to be born since the time of Náin I. Many had the portraits of their family hung alongside them proudly – Queens and Consorts, husbands and wives, sons and daughters. The story of his family was here, told not in words but in bold, precise brushstrokes.

“Laddie,” Balin’s voice broke the silence as he put a hand on Thorin’s shoulder in greeting. “What is this?” the white-haired dwarf questioned, craning to see what held Thorin’s attention so completely. Shooting his friend a tight smile Thorin tilted the sheet he held and heard Balin gasp.

“Did Dwalin…?” the advisor trailed off, a searching look in his eyes.

Thorin nodded. “Yes, Dwalin drew it. This is the dwarf living with my nephew.” Balin looked again the beautifully rendered sketch. The pen strokes, while hurried, conveyed a sense of life and movement in the subject. Glancing between the sketch and the portrait on the wall Balin shook his head, a look of shock on his weathered face. Thorin watched him, tightening his grip on the picture to stop his hands from trembling.

“It seems that this is not the first time such misfortune has found our Line.” Thorin’s voice was hushed in deference to that long-ago tragedy.

Eventually Thorin allowed himself to be drawn away by a perturbed Balin; there were preparations to complete and a journey to begin. Behind him the portrait continued to grin impishly, the mischievous glint in his eye forever captured in oil and canvas. Below, the plaque read

_Kíli, son of Dáin I_

                                                                                               _The Lost Prince_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I hope you enjoyed this chapter, despite the cliffhanger! Muahahaha!  
> In my headcanon Dwalin is a rather accomplished artist and the ill-advised Battle of Azanulbizar still took place, so Thorin still earned his name of 'Oakenshield'.  
> Translations:  
> Bâhal: friend of friends


	7. Visitors in the Dark

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Late-night visitors upset the careful balance of the life Fili, Kili and Ori have built for themselves.

The late fall sun was setting earlier these days, the evenings cool enough to chill even Fíli’s heated blood as he walked and it had been a pleasure to come home to a merrily burning fire in the hearth, a warm mug of tea and Kíli’s warmer smile.

“You’re cheeks are red,” he greeted, and if Fíli didn’t know better he’d say there was fondness in the vampire’s tone. He took the steaming mug Ori offered with a grateful smile. The ghost studied the knitted gloves he still wore. “It gets cold fast after dark this time of year.” There was a wistful note in his voice. Fíli held the mug close and nodded his agreement, shivering a bit.

“Well,” Kíli drawled from where he’d sprawled on the couch, “you could make us some of those gloves, like the ones you have. You did say you knit, right?” Ori’s face brightened and Fíli grinned at his enthusiasm, outright smiling as the fussy ghost bustled off, muttering about colors and weight and stitches. Kíli smiled smugly when Fíli looked his way and just shrugged when Fíli raised an eyebrow, silently saying _Well, he’s not brooding anymore, is he?_

 

An hour later Fíli sat with his back against the deliciously hot hearth stones, mind drifting, hands idly working a block of wood, and listened to the rhythmic _click_ of Ori’s needles.

Looking up he smiled when he saw Kíli’s eyes were drifting closed, book barely propped up in his lax hands. The comfortable silence was shattered by a loud knock. Fíli jumped, dagger biting deep into the wood, eyes riveted on the unbolted door. Icy fear he couldn’t explain trickled down his spine, followed by a hot, twisting pain in his left shoulder. Fíli gasped, flinching, his heart kicking in his chest. Their visitor knocked again, and Fíli took a deep breath; he could feel Kíli’s eyes on him and tried to steady his suddenly shaking hands. Ori’s needles fell silent, and he dragged his eyes away from the door to find Ori frowning slightly, looking between him and Kíli.

 “Are you going to get that?” Ori asked, confusion and caution coloring his voice in equal measure. The knocking came again, more insistent, louder.

Fíli forced a smile onto his face and levered himself to his feet. “Of course, Ori,” _calm,_ he told himself, _be calm,_ “I’ll get it.” Kíli shot him a dark look, but didn’t argue.

Fíli strode swiftly across the room and just as whoever was on the other side of the door started to positively pound on the door. He twisted the heavy knob and swung the door open. He stared at the men on his doorstep. They stared back. His heart beat faster, too fast, racing in his chest. His breath began to come hard and fast and his hands trembled where they gripped the doorframe.

“Fíli…” an all-too-familiar voice breathed and Fíli’s vision narrowed, greyed out at the edges. He couldn’t see, couldn’t breathe and the only thing he could think, feel, was _They found me, they’ve come, they’ll take me, Mahâl please no!_ An animal cry tore itself from his throat and he flung the door shut so forcefully that his palms stung, not caring that ragged metal edge of the bolt sliced deep into his palm as he slammed it shut. As soon as the door was locked securely Fíli’s legs gave out, his injured palm smearing blood on the rough wood and Kíli’s tunic as the vampire caught him.

They slid to the floor and Fíli curled into his vampire, burying his head in the crook of Kíli’s neck. He leaned into the touch when Kíli began to stroke his back and whispered in his ear “Shhh, Fee, it’s alright, I’ve got you. That’s right, breathe, shhh _âzyungel_ , take a deep breath for me.” Kíli continued whispering soothing nonsense to him and Fíli wrapped himself in the blanket of his words, letting their warmth seep into his skin, sink into his bones and chase away the chill that had settled there. Fili shuddered and drew a full, if hitching, breath and went completely limp in Kíli’s arms, head pillowed on his chest. He felt weighted down, body and soul, and didn’t have the energy to startle when he realized it was Ori stroking his hair.

“Fíli?” Ori’s voice was small and scared and it made Fíli’s chest tighten to know he was the cause. “Are you alright?” Ori’s small hand was still combing through his hair as he asked. Fíli’s voice was caught behind the lump in his throat so he just shook his head, eyes still closed tight. He tried to stop the whimper that forced its way out, but Kíli heard anyway and tightened his arms around him.

“Who was that?” Kíli questioned quietly, pressing a kiss to his clammy forehead. “Why are you so afraid?” he whispered into Fíli’s skin, softer. It was the note of pleading in Kíli’s voice that broke the dam Fíli had built around his fears and he started to cry, sobs wrenching out of his from his very core. He turned his face into Kíli’s tunic, letting the fabric soak up his blood and tears and muffle his words.

“Thorin,” he choked out, “it was Thorin.” After a moment he stepped over the mental rubble of his walls and continued. “My uncle.” He heard Ori’s gasp and felt Kíli’s sharp intake of breath. “Damn,” Kíli murmured, once again rubbing circles on Fíli’s back. Clutching Kíli’s tunic in a white-knuckled grip he started to shake, more violently than before.

“They had _guards_ , Kíli, Kee, they’ve come for me, don’t let them take me, please Kee, don’t make me go,” he was babbling, he could hear himself, words slurring together but Kíli just kissed his wet cheek.

“Never,” he promised, “never, love. I’ll never let you go, you don’t have to go with anyone; I’ll keep you safe. I’ll keep you.” The last was little more than a sigh, but Kíli spoke with such conviction that Fíli nodded, tucking himself further into Kíli’s arms. They sat there as the night deepened, Kíli’s lips and hands on his skin lulling him, draining his fear away. Ori continued petting his hair, soothing, until he’d cried himself out. Exhausted, he drifted to sleep to the wordless hum of a half-remembered lullaby and woke later to find himself in bed; not his, but Kíli’s, with the vampire’s cool limbs tangled with his own. He blinked into the darkness a few times, considered extricating himself for the barest moment, then snuggled closer, laying his head on Kíli’s chest. Listening to the sluggish beat of his heart Fíli let go of the waking world knowing that nothing could tear him from his Kíli, not even Uncle, Dwalin or the entirety of the Royal Guard.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soooo, it's been about forever since an update and I truly apologize. Fear not, for I have not forgotten my lovely readers or this fic!   
> I really will try to get updates in more often but classes are the priority, but I hope to not leave you hanging for so long again.
> 
> Thanks for sticking with me!


	8. Interlude, Part II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The day Fili was changed was also the day he died.

Year 2921, Third Age

 

The day Fíli was…changed…was also the day he died. The morning had dawned bright and clear, hot but breezy enough to make the warmth enjoyable rather than uncomfortable. Fíli rose early and enjoyed a quiet breakfast with his mum, watching her putter around their small personal kitchen. It was a rare day off for him, no lessons with Balin, no training with Dwalin, no time spent at the forge or sitting in council under Thorin’s assessing gaze.

Fíli kissed his mother on the cheek and took the satchel she handed him with a quick “Thanks, mum!” and then he was out the door and heading for his favourite spot in all of Erebor - a small, high meadow by the river that wound through the foothills of the mountain, not far from the falls. Fíli took off at a run once he’d left the smoothly hewn corridors and was out of the mountain proper, dashing through the woods with an ease borne of long practice. Reaching the meadow he turned his face to the sun and flopped down onto the lush early-summer grass. Lying on his back, eyes closed, Fíli fully intended to while away the whole day amongst the birdsong and fragrant meadow flowers doing absolutely nothing.

He was dozing lightly when he realized something was off. The late afternoon sun was still warm, the buzzing of insects loud in his ears; too loud, his mind whispered. Where was the birdsong? Fíli tensed, eyes snapping open, sudden silence in the wild was never a good thing. He reached for his sword, within easy reach even here, on the slopes of the Lonely Mountain itself.

Fast as he was, though, he wasn’t fast enough. Before he could draw the blade the beast was upon him. Fíli tried to roll out of the way of the creature’s lunge, desperately wrenching his sword free of the scabbard. Even as he moved he realized that it wasn’t going to work, he was still within easy reach of the warg’s powerful jaws. He had barely a moment to feel gut-wrenching terror before wickedly sharp claws were tearing into his now-exposed back, teeth biting deep into his shoulder. Fíli screamed as his flesh tore, the long, hooked claws shredding skin and muscle as easily as they shredded his tunic.

Blood was flowing fast and hot, liquid heat soaking his clothing and staining the meadow grasses crimson. Fíli didn’t pause, despite the shrieking of his injured shoulder and rolled onto his back, feeling his lacerated flesh tear further. Whimpering and panting with pain Fíli thrust his unsheathed sword between himself and the warg, clutching the hilt tightly with shaking hands, the searing pain lancing through his left shoulder made it difficult to grip the blade. Before his screaming body could fail him the warg turned and launched itself toward him again, only to impale itself in the chest. The finely crafted blade sunk smoothly into flesh with a slick crunching sound, the blade catching slightly on bone before sinking into the creature’s chest to the hilt.

The warg jerked in its death throes, jaws snapping inches from Fíli’s exposed abdomen, its blood mixing with his own, darker red on Fíli’s tunic and staining his hair nearly black as it thrashed. The spurting blood made his grip on the blade even more precarious and Fíli heaved upward, pushing the carcass up and off, letting it thump heavily on the grass beside him, sword still buried in its chest. It was all over in minutes and Fíli was left shivering and nauseous from pain, fear and adrenaline, his clothing soaked and hair matted with blood. Still, it wasn’t until the body of the warg started to shrink and shift, changing shape, that he started to cry.

 

Fíli’s legs were threatening to go out from under him as he stood - leaning heavily on a tree, but still standing – and surveyed the scene before him. The perfect tranquility of the meadow was shattered by the ugly pool of blood at its center.

Uprooted stalks and flowers were testament to the violence that had occurred. His sword lay at the edge of the pool, still covered in blood, just where he’d left it after pulling it out of the dead were-warg’s chest. The moment the body had started to revert back to its true form Fíli had realized that he had to die here. Were-wargs were rare, but every warrior in both Erebor and Dale knew of the danger they posed. Even safe within the stronghold of the mountain, they wouldn’t risk losing any fighters to these things, no patrols went out on the full moon.

Pain and shock combined to make him feel slow and stupid and fear made his muscles tense, stoking the burning fire radiating out from his mauled shoulder. He couldn’t begin to try and unravel why a were-warg was in beast form during the day, weeks from the full moon; he could only focus desperately on putting on foot in front of the other. If he stopped to think about the were-warg, about what he was doing, he would surely break. Huzûg, monsters, Thorin named them; and now he was one of them. The knowledge that his family would never accept him back was a terrible, icy pain in his chest, jagged shards tearing him up inside.

Fíli rubbed a hand across his face, further smearing blood and tears over pale skin turned greyish. He’d lost an awful lot of blood, but not as much as he should have. If he hadn’t been sure what the muzmûn was before, it was all too clear now. Fíli shouldn’t be able to stand after a warg attack, let alone walk. The same curse that had just destroyed his life was keeping him alive. Aulë clearly had a cruel sense of humour.

A path of trampled grass and smeared blood led away from the tacky-dry pool toward the riverbank. Fíli had been careful that no boot prints, in dirt or blood, gave away that it was no animal dragging a corpse through the trees. Tattered pieces of his ruined tunic were snagged on rough bark and low branches, not entirely by intention. At the riverbank a hunk of his own hair was caught, tangled in a low thornbush.

Bits of flesh and beads of blood still clung to the roots. Tearing it out had brought more tears to his eyes, but he believed that his family, not to mention the guard, would need the extra proof of his demise. He’d dumped the body of the were-warg in the river, knowing it would be carried over the falls. If it was found at all it would be nothing more than a mass of battered flesh and broken bones, unrecognizable. The small man had been blonde.

Fíli took one last look at the scene in the fading daylight, too tired and hurting too much to do more than weep silently. He decided that it would do. His hair was loose, braids half-unravelled. The rough, nearly wild outer ring of Dale was a fair hike from his meadow and Fíli was by no means sure he could make it there. He had no choice, though. Despite the quickened healing ability brought by the curse if he had any chance of surviving the night he needed a healer. His hair clasps – gold, engraved with the emblem of his Line, a gift from his mother - were tucked into the satchel he clutched in one shaking hand, along with food he hadn’t been able to choke down. From now on he was no longer Fíli, son of Dís, Prince of Erebor; he was just Fíli, houseless and homeless.

As he stepped into the river and concentrated on simply moving forward, one step at a time, towards the city he wondered if maybe now his uncle, so grim since Fíli’s great-grandfather’s death, would speak of him with pride. He hoped that his uncle would stay and not go haring off as he had in times of grief before, he didn’t want his mother to be alone while she…while she grieved. The rushing river water numbed his bare feet, but Fíli barely felt the icy cold in his limbs – it was nothing compared to the icy cold gripping his heart.

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> New chapter! Woot woot! Many thanks to anyone who's still with me, I hope you enjoy!

**Author's Note:**

> Basic timeline - if you have any questions, just ask and I'll clarify!  
> 2542 --- Kíli, son of Dáin I, is born  
> .  
> .  
> 2552 --- Thrór is born  
> .  
> .  
> 2628 --- Kíli is turned by a vampire (Kíli is 86, Thrór is 76)  
> .  
> .  
> 2644 --- Thráin II is born  
> .  
> .  
> 2746 --- Thorin, son of Thráin, is born  
> .  
> .  
> 2850 --- King Thrór succumbs to gold lust and dies, Thráin falls into madness. Thorin takes the throne.  
> .  
> .  
> 2859 --- Fíli, son of Dís, is born  
> .  
> .  
> 2870 --- Thráin dies, still lost in madness  
> .  
> .  
> 2921 --- Fíli is turned by a were-warg and leaves Erebor (age 62)  
> .  
> .  
> 2923 --- Fíli and Kíli meet in the Blue Mountains  
> .  
> .  
> 2935 --- Ori is killed and becomes a ghost (Ori is 126, Fíli is 76, Kíli is 393)  
> .  
> .  
> 2941 --- Fíli and Kíli move into a (pink) haunted house and meet Ori (Fíli is 82, Kíli is 399)


End file.
